


Jaime Lannister Investigations - Episode 12 of 13

by ShirleyAnn66



Series: Jaime Lannister Investigations [12]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, Remington Steele AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-16 18:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13059324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShirleyAnn66/pseuds/ShirleyAnn66
Summary: Series Summary:The great detective, Jaime Lannister? He doesn’t exist. I invented him. It was working like a charm—until the day he walked in, with his green eyes and mysterious past.Episode 12:Joffrey Baratheon is getting married--again!--this time to Margaery Tyrell.  When the engagement party ends with Joffrey dead, Jaime and Brienne need to work their way through everyone who had reason to detest Joffrey to find the person responsible.





	1. Teaser

Awesome banner by the equally awesome justme. :)

***/*/*/*/***

Jaime and Brienne again face the glare of the media spotlight once they’re allowed to return to King’s Landing and the news of what happened to them when they exposed the Dreadfort Killer leaks out.  They do their best to avoid the publicity, refusing interviews and simply pushing their way past the varysazzi, until finally, thankfully, the next big story breaks and leaves them in the dust.

Jaime/Brienne slowly heal physically even if they occasionally fall silent, staring at nothing.  If one of them wakes in the night, the other simply holds them close and comforts them as best they can.

But time doesn’t stop for anyone or anything.  Life goes on, and they have a business to run.

For the next few weeks, they take on cases that deal only with theft or insurance fraud, and do their best to avoid murder cases.

“Do you think we’ve turned craven?” Brienne asks.

“No,” Jaime says and tugs her into his arms, “I think we’re hurt and need time to heal.”

*/*/*/*/*

When Tyrion finally returns to King’s Landing from wherever Tywin had sent him, he listens to Jaime’s story and says, “I wish I would have known.”  He sips his drink, scowling.  “I was almost too late last time.”

Jaime puts his right hand on Tyrion’s shoulder and says, “You arrived just in time,” he says, “and I will never be able to repay you for saving me.”

Tyrion shakes his head.  “You’re my brother, Jaime, whether you claim me or no; whether we’re related by blood or no.  You’re my brother, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

Jaime’s eyes narrow.  “Why do I suddenly think we’re talking about something else?”

Tyrion sighs.  “Cersei called.”

“No.”

“It’s nothing bad!”

“It’s Cersei; of course it’s bad!”

Tyrion grimaces.  “Well, there’s no argument there.  I would gleefully say no and laugh in her face, but Tywin has also lent his voice to her pleas.”

Jaime closes his eyes.  “Dear gods...what do they want?”

“Joffrey is throwing a massive party at the DragonPit where he’s going to announce his engagement to Margaery Tyrell.  Cersei wants you and your agency to provide security.”

*/*/*/*/*

“He’s engaged _again_?” Brienne says, her nose wrinkled in a grimace of disgust.

“The boy works fast,” Jaime says drily, “although even a rock star’s reputation may start to take a hit if he keeps cycling through fiancées at this rate.”  He glances at Bronna, who’s with them in the board room along with Sam.  “No offense.”

“None taken,” Bronna says, “although I’m not sure what Joffrey’s thinking!  He’s even invited me and Sansa!”

“Maybe he’s trying to show the media there are no hard feelings between him and his previous fiancées,” Sam says.

“Boy, is he wrong,” Bronna mutters.

“You’re not going to go, are you?”

“Of course I’m going!  So is Sansa!  This may be our only chance to warn Margaery before she makes the mistake of actually marrying the asshole.  Although she should know what Joffrey’s like; her brother is Joffrey’s uncle-in-law, after all.”

Everyone else frowns at that then their faces clear.  “That’s right,” Brienne says.  “Loras Tyrell is Margaery’s brother.”  She shakes her head and turns to Sam.  “Did you get invited, too?”

Sam shakes his head.  “Thankfully, no.  People tend to forget I’m Randyll Tarly’s son, and that’s usually the way I like it.”

“Still, it’s being touted as the social event of the century,” Bronna says.

“More like the train wreck of the century!” Jaime says.

“I don’t know,” Sam says thoughtfully, “it’ll take a lot to knock the non-wedding with Sansa out of top spot.”

“So I take it this means we’ll take the case?” Jaime says.

Brienne gives him a thoughtful look and nods, and Jaime knows they’re going to have a long talk later that night, once they’re alone in her apartment.

“Well,” Jaime says, slapping his hand on the table and getting to his feet, “make sure you bring the popcorn.”

*/*/*/*/*

“Are you going to be all right with this?” Brienne asks as she puts the steaming casserole on the table and sits across from him.

He lifts an eyebrow.  “You know I love your tuna casserole,” he says.

She rolls her eyes. “You know what I’m talking about!”

He sighs.  “I know, and yes.”  He gives her a bittersweet smile.  “Although this is the first time I’ll be at one of Joffrey’s marriage things when I know he’s my son.”

“Supposed to be,” Brienne says and frowns as she chews on a mouthful of food.  “I should be able to get a DNA sample from Joffrey easily enough once we’re at the DragonPit; you can know for certain.”

Jaime shrugs.  “If you’d like.  Tywin confirmed it, though, and he never makes mistakes.”

She raises an eyebrow.  “Never?”

He grins.  “Almost never.  If you can get the DNA sample, we’ll do the test, just to be sure.”

She nods. “With luck, the night will be boring…not like the non-wedding.”

He groans.  “It’s Cersei and Joffrey.  Don’t get your hopes up.”

*/*/*/*/*


	2. One

***/*/*/*/***

Sandor Clegane reluctantly and somewhat resentfully allows Jaime and Brienne to come into the DragonPit and set up security.  Not that there’s much they need to do:  Joffrey is paying to have the club to himself for the night and Clegane has his own army of bouncers, including the red-haired Tormund who still leers a little too much in Brienne’s direction.

The rest of the guest list makes them raise their eyebrows even more than the news that Bronna and Sansa were invited.  All the Tyrells and the Baratheons are included, of course, but all of the Starks are also on the guest list, even Robb, who once publicly threatened to murder the little shit.

Bronna gasps when she sees her father’s name along with her stepmother’s.

“ _He’s inviting my dad?_ ” she screeches.  “Does he have a death wish?”

Jaime says, “Well, I, for one, am looking forward to meeting your father.”

Bronna rolls her eyes.  “Trying to stop him while he’s beating the shit out of my ex-fiancé is not meeting him under the best of circumstances, trust me on that one!”

Brienne and Jaime shake their heads.

“Well, so much for a quiet night,” Brienne mutters.

*/*/*/*/*

The evening starts off better than Brienne had dared to hope.

Ned and Catelyn Stark arrive with Sansa, Arya and Robb in tow along with Jon Snow and his aunt, Daenerys Targaryen.  Beside Daenerys is a man who looks vaguely familiar to Brienne.

“Jorah Mormont,” Jaime murmurs in Brienne’s ear.  “The actor, not the khaleesi-obsessed pseudo-scientist.  Jorah was in Lannisport when we were filming the Jeor Bond movie.”

Brienne nods.  “I remember.”  She frowns.  “Didn’t he have a run-in with Joffrey on the set?”

“That he did, and it was a glorious sight to behold.”  Jaime grins.  “Daenerys doesn’t exactly think highly of Joffrey, either.”

Brienne shakes her head and goes back to observing the guests.

Margaery’s grandmother, Olenna, arrives next, escorted by her son, Mace, and two of her three grandsons, Willas and Garlan.  Brienne thinks Olenna looks less than thrilled with her granddaughter’s decision, but then again, who can blame her?  This is Joffrey’s third engagement in just over a year, and his public behaviour is getting worse by the day.

Stannis and his family are right behind the Tyrells.  Stannis looks like he would rather be anywhere other than here, with his wife and daughter looking only slightly more pleased.  Shireen looks like she _wants_ to be excited, and Brienne wonders if the poor girl ever has any fun with parents like hers.

Renly and Loras are next, practically bounding into the bar, holding hands and beaming, greeting and laughing and joking with everyone.  Renly says something that even makes Joffrey smile, at least until Renly slaps him on the back hard enough to make him stagger and spill his drink.  Then Joffrey’s face darkens with a scowl as he shoots his uncle a resentful glare.

Tyrion walks in and Bronna’s face lights up.  She hurries to his side and gives him a quick kiss, to Joffrey’s absolute gaping disbelief.  As Tyrion and Bronna pass them, Joffrey says something to Renly and Loras that makes their smiles freeze, and it’s obviously loud enough to carry because Tyrion slowly turns to look at Joffrey with a smile that’s more than a touch feral.  Bronna glares at her ex-fiance , sneers something at him, then abruptly turns her back and leads Tyrion to the open bar.

Bronna’s father and stepmother thankfully arrive too late to see that interaction.  Still, her father, Bronn, has no welcoming smile for Joffrey, while his wife, Falyse, simpers all over him.  Brienne wonders if the woman simply switched her Big Bobby B devotion to Joffrey without a second thought.  Bronn—tall, thin, with dangerous eyes—simply stares impassively at the younger man the entire time and lets his wife do all the talking.

Cersei sweeps in on the arm of a tall, thin man with a bald head, what hair he has left gleaming gold and silver in the lights of the club.  Cersei herself is as beautiful as ever, her own golden hair pinned in an elaborate up-do that emphasizes her long, slender neck and high cheekbones.  Brienne hears Jaime’s sigh, and she glances at him.  She’s not surprised to see an expression of regret on his face as he watches his former lover and the mother of his children wafting through the room, smiling graciously as she greets everyone, even the Starks.

Jaime’s eyes meet Brienne’s and he gives her a rueful shrug.

She shrugs back, and returns her attention to the crowd.

In the back of the room, Sandor Clegane stands with his arms crossed across his massive chest, looming like a dark, angry shadow over everyone.

Brienne doesn’t know most of the people in attendance, but there is a smaller number that she recognizes from the tabloids.  They’re other rock stars and movie stars and Brienne idly wonders if Joffrey or Margaery truly know them or if these celebrities are in attendance only because they know that, if past experience is any indication, there will be some kind of drama before the night is over.  Drama means the varysazzi and publicity and social media, and even bad press is better than no press at all.

Brienne prowls the perimeter of the space, scanning the room as she walks.  She notices Lancel Lannister standing at the bar beside Bronna and Tyrion.  As Brienne watches, Lancel finishes one drink and immediately picks up another.  Brienne raises an eyebrow.  She doesn’t know Lancel well, but he always seemed more straitlaced than the hard drinking would imply.

Lancel’s attention is caught by someone, and his expression turns to one of longing and despair, and Brienne follows his line of sight.  She’s not surprised to realize he’s watching Cersei; the woman seems to have that effect on people.

Jaime appears beside Brienne and nudges her shoulder with his own.  “Look who just walked in,” he says.

She turns and her jaw drops when she sees Oberyn Martell on the threshold with Ashara Dayne on his arm.  Even from this distance Oberyn oozes sexuality and Brienne can’t help the small sigh that escapes her.  She flushes as she catches Jaime’s accusing eyes.

She wags a warning finger at him.  “I never said a word when Cersei walked in,” she says, “and I have more reason to be worried about her than you do about Oberyn.”

He puts his hand to his chest with a dramatic flair and grins, his eyes dancing.  “Did I say anything?”

She sniffs and turns her shoulder to him with a haughty air that’s ruined by Jaime’s soft chuckle and his murmured, “I love you, you delightful wench.”

She glances over her shoulder at him and gives him a shy smile, and wonders if her eyes are shining as brightly as she feels.

*/*/*/*/*

People stream in and out of the DragonPit throughout the evening, and Brienne notices Joffrey is drinking even more heavily than she expected.  She wonders what Margaery sees in him.  Then again, she didn’t know what Sansa or Bronna saw in him, either.

Voices get louder, music blares, bodies bounce and grind to the beat, and Brienne prowls the outskirts of the crowd, keeping her eyes open, and wonders if this night is ever going to end.  Then she hears the shouting even over the music, and she makes her way through the crowd in time to see Joffrey fling off Renley’s hand.

“I am not drunk, you fucking fa—”

“Joffrey!” Margaery says, sharply.  “Enough!  Your uncle is just concerned about you.”

Joffrey turns his glare on her.  He staggers towards her, his face ugly with rage.  Margaery watches him with a wary expression but doesn’t back away.

“Joffrey,” another voice says, sharp and commanding.  The suddenly silent crowd parts to allow Olenna Tyrell to bustle forward.  Olenna not-so-subtly positions herself in front of her granddaughter as she peers up at Joffrey.  “I believe it’s time for a toast, don’t you?  And the speeches?”

“Speeches?” Joffrey slurs, swaying a little.

Cersei hurries up to him and says, “This is an engagement party, so you only have to thank everyone for coming and say how pleased you are to be marrying Margaery.”

Joffrey’s eyes glitter as he looks at his stepmother.  He takes a couple of unsteady steps towards her as he says, “Aren’t you afraid about what else I might say?”

Cersei pales then flushes.  “Of course not.”  She looks around and leans closer.  “You’re causing a scene, Joffrey.”

He throws back his head and laughs.  “That’s what I do, Cersei!  It’s not a party with the Prince of Rock and Roll until there’s been a scene!”  He spins around glaring at everyone staring at him until his gaze falls on Bronna.  “Isn’t that right, you stupid bitch?  And where’s Sansa hiding?  She’s not only stupid, but cowardly as well.  You at least put up a fight every now and then!”

Catelyn practically throws herself in front of Ned, Robb and Arya, who all surge forward as one, and when Bronn Stokeworth takes a step towards Joffrey, his face and eyes as cold as ice, Bronna grabs his arm and holds him back.

“No, Dad,” she says, “he’s not worth it.”

Joffrey laughs.  “Not worth it!  Ha!  You came here with that—that little freak hiding behind your skirts!  Such a fucking transparent publicity stunt!  Are you going to tell the tabloids that half-a-man is better than me?  Is that why you brought that―that _deformed_ creature here?”

Tyrion simply raises his glass in a mocking toast as Brienne steps forward.  “I think that’s enough,” she says.

Joffrey looks her up and down and sneers.  “Oh, the big ugly one can talk, too!  Amazing!  Why are you even here?”

Now it’s Jaime’s turn to step forward.  “That really is enough,” he says, his voice sharp.  “This is meant to be a party to celebrate your engagement.”  He catches Tyrion’s eye and motions towards the bar.  “Let’s all have another drink and make a toast to the happy couple before we speed them on their way home.”

Joffrey scowls at him but before he can say anything, Olenna says, “That is an excellent idea, young man.”  She rakes Joffrey with her eyes and sniffs.  “This was a pleasant evening until now.  A bit too loud for my tastes, but the modern music makes no sense to me at the best of times.”  She gives them a thin smile.  “If we’re going to have a toast, then it’s time for the Myrish wine, don’t you think?”

“No wine,” Joffrey snaps.  “I’ve been drinking Father’s favourite ale—you know the one, Cersei; you introduced it to us at my spectacularly public non-wedding.”  Cersei’s eyes widen as Joffrey’s smile turns cruel, his eyes gleaming.  “I’ll use that for the toast and nothing else.”

“Of course,” Olenna murmurs.  She glances around the crowd.  “Could someone please go and tell the bartender it’s time for the Prince to get what he desires?”

“I’ll go,” Sansa says, palpably grateful to be able to get away from the situation.

“She’s a sweet girl,” Olenna says to Catelyn.

“Thank you,” Catelyn says, her arm still blocking Ned, Robb, and Arya’s way.  “We’re very proud of her.”

“As you should be,” Olenna says with a smile that is just short of being mocking.

Everyone stands in awkward silence while the drinks are distributed, then the silence stretches, brittle and tense and getting more awkward by the second.

Finally, Stannis sighs and raises his glass.  “To Joffrey and Margaery; may their marriage be blessed with happiness, wealth, and children.”

Everyone stares at him then Jaime says, “Hear, hear,” and takes a sip of his wine.

Joffrey sneers then gulps down his glass of ale as everyone else sips―or pretends to sip—their own drinks.

Everyone relaxes slightly, then Joffrey coughs, and coughs again, his hand going to his throat.  He coughs once more, and now his breathing is strangled, and Brienne realizes his eyes are bulging, and his glass shatters on the floor as he claws at his throat.  Brienne rushes to his side in time to catch him and lower him to the ground.  Jaime drops to his knees beside them both and loosens Joffrey’s collar.

Brienne looks up at the gaping crowd.  “Call an ambulance!” she yells, then turns back to a rapidly-turning-blue Joffrey.  Cersei collapses to her knees beside Jaime, screaming Joffrey’s name, but Brienne barely hears her.  She and Jaime take turns administering first aid, but she knows, even before help arrives, that Joffrey is dead.

*/*/*/*/*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:**   Yes, there was a continuity issue with the two Jorahs.  I completely forgot that Jorah was a movie star when I named the khaleesi-obsessed pseudo-scientist.  Sometimes the only way to work with a continuity error is to just embrace it.  ;D


	3. Two

***/*/*/*/***

The first responders arrive, and confirm what Brienne already knows:  Joffrey is dead.

Cersei’s wailing grief is both heart-wrenching and a distraction that Brienne simply doesn’t need right now.  Lancel rushes to Cersei’s side, but she quickly rebuffs him, and Brienne isn’t surprised when Cersei throws herself into Jaime’s arms and clings to him.

Ned Stark steps forward.  “No one will be allowed to leave,” he says, raising his voice to be heard over Cersei’s wails.  “This was obviously murder—”

Cersei’s sobs get louder, and Brienne grits her teeth and struggles with the urge to give the woman a slap in order to knock the hysteria out of her.  She immediately feels guilty at the thought and promises to say extra prayers to the Mother and the Crone in penance and to ask them for patience.

“This was obviously murder,” Ned says, raising his voice even further, “and no one will be allowed to leave until we’ve interviewed all of you.”

He turns to Randyll Tarly, who arrived with the Gold Cloaks.  “Get more men, then work with Clegane to get as many interview rooms set up as you can.”

Tarly looks around the room.  “There are hundreds of people here!”

Ned slaps Tarly on the back and says, “It’s going to be a long night.”

Brienne steps forward.  “You can’t be in charge of this investigation, Ned.”

Ned scowls.  “What are you talking about?”

Now Brienne’s grateful that Cersei’s weeping is almost deafening.  She pulls both Tarly and Ned closer and says, “You know better, Ned.  Your oldest son threatened Joffrey’s life in a public setting.  Your oldest daughter left him at the altar because he abused her.  Your youngest daughter is...well... _Arya_ , and you, yourself, have had a rocky relationship with him ever since you became executor of his father’s estate.  There’s no way you will be considered impartial.”

Ned considers her thoughtfully, his eyebrow raised.  “Are you suggesting _you_ should lead the investigation?”

“Gods, no!  He abused my best friend and I would have gladly run the little shit over with my car if I had the chance.”

“Then your boss instead?”

Brienne glances over to where Jaime is still comforting Cersei.  She sees Tyrion and the bald man who had arrived with Cersei hovering behind the pair.

“No,” she murmurs, “he’s compromised, too.”

*/*/*/*/*

In the end, Brienne reluctantly agrees that Randyll Tarly is the only one who can lead the investigation.  He’s a judgmental asshole, but he’s one of the few people in the world, it seems, who hasn’t threatened Joffrey’s life at least once.

Still, Tarly reluctantly agrees that he needs all the help he can get, and as much as he dislikes Brienne, he also has to admit she’s the least compromised of everyone in the room.  She may have hated Joffrey’s guts, but she never actually threatened to kill him.

Brienne pulls Jaime aside, prying him away from Cersei’s clutching hands with an effort, and explains the situation.

“I can help,” he says.

“He’s your son, Jaime.  Once people realize that—”

“That’s not likely to become public,” he says.

“It’s a murder investigation!  You should know by now that _everything_ becomes public.  You and Cersei need to decide what you’re going to do if it does come out.  In the meantime, however, you can’t be part of the investigation.”

“Not officially, no,” he says, “but the Gold Cloaks will need all the help they can get.”  He scans the room, where the party guests are milling around, some sobbing, some stoic, some looking shell-shocked while still others have their phones out and are recording it all for posterity...or the Internet.  Whichever comes first.

Jaime grimaces as he turns back to Brienne.  “What we have here is a veritable orgy of suspects.  There are hundreds of people in this room, and most, if not all, of them, at one time or another, had the urge to murder Joffrey.  How many of them actually had a motive and the resolve to do it is the real question.”

Brienne gives him a fleeting smile then says, “You may be best used in keeping Cersei calm.” 

They turn as one to look at the woman in question, now leaning against the tall, bald man and weeping quietly against his shoulder. 

“Who is he?” Brienne asks.

Jaime sighs.  “That’s Tywin.  Introduced tonight as an old friend of Cersei’s family.”

Brienne raises her eyebrows and thoughtfully considers the older man.  He must feel her eyes on him, because he looks up and meets her gaze with an unblinking, impassive stare of his own.

She nods her head and he tilts his own in acknowledgement.

Brienne turns back to Jaime and sighs.  “Whatever we do, we need to make sure we don’t compromise the case.”

Jaime puts a hand over his heart and says, “I swear.”  He glances around then cups her face and gives her a quick kiss.  “I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you, too,” she whispers in response, but with a lilt of a question in her voice, “and I’m sorry.  He was your son.”

He sighs.  “And such a horrible little shit.”  He shakes his head, kisses her again and says, “Try to avoid Cersei and Tywin, if you can.”

She scowls.  “Why?”

He smiles.  “Trust me,” he says, and gives her one last quick peck on the lips.  “I guess we should get to work.”

*/*/*/*/*

Most of the interviews go quickly.  The minor celebrities who attended the party as a publicity stunt barely knew Joffrey or Margaery, and were there for the photo op and the open bar.  Some obviously found other substances to enjoy as well, but that’s not Brienne’s focus at the moment.  She hands them over to the Gold Cloaks when she’s done, and wonders if the varysazzi are already camped outside the DragonPit and descending like vultures whenever the doors open.

Stupid question, she thinks.  Of course they are.

They cycle through these guests more quickly than Brienne expects, but then again, it’s not a surprise.  Their statements need to be taken, and anything suspicious noted and flagged, but she suspects the culprit will be somebody with a much closer relationship with Joffrey.

She leans back in her chair, pondering the question as she waits for the next guest to be escorted into the room.

Poison—and it’s obviously poison that’s the cause of Joffrey’s death—is an impersonal method of murder, since it can be set up to happen at any time, when the person doing the killing isn’t even in the room.  Yet it can also be an incredibly personal method as well:  administered slowly, methodically, and while looking the victim in the eyes.  Brienne thinks of Lysa Arryn and the way she poisoned her husband Jon over a period of time, and shudders.

Brienne glances up as the door opens and the next drunken would-be-celebrity staggers in and collapses on the chair across from her.

The Gold Cloak assigned as her partner gives her a speaking look.  She bites back a sigh, and begins the interview in the way that’s already become standard.

“My name is Brienne Tarth; I’m a private investigator with Jaime Lannister Investigations.  I’ve been asked to assist the King’s Landing City Watch with questioning the witnesses to Joffrey Baratheon’s murder.  You’ve already met Officer Allar Deem.  We’ll be taking your official statement.  Now, for the record, please state your name and address.”

*/*/*/*/*


	4. Three

***/*/*/*/***

As the night turns to day, Tarly orders his Gold Cloaks to bring in blankets and Clegane’s staff move tables to the side so people can stretch out on the floor or slouch in chairs to get some rest while they wait for their turn in the interview rooms.  Sandor brings out a loveseat, that Cersei immediately claims, and then an armchair from the back offices.  Olenna, the oldest person in the room, is ensconced in the chair where she raises the foot rest, pulls a blanket up to her chin, and promptly falls asleep.  Every now and then, a small snore escapes her lips and Brienne finds herself envying her.

It takes several hours, but the majority of the party guests are processed and sent on their way much more quickly than Brienne expected.  Then again, the guests allowed to leave were also nowhere near Joffrey when he died.  Joffrey himself has long since been taken to the morgue, and Cersei’s grief has finally been reduced to an icy calm.

Brienne’s eyes are burning as she looks around to see who’s left in the room:  Bronna and her father, Bronn, and her stepmother, Falyse.  The Starks.  The Tyrells.  The Baratheons.  Lancel Lannister. Oberyn Martell and Ashara Dayne.  Daenerys Targaryen and Jorah Mormont.  Jaime, Tywin and Tyrion, hovering next to Cersei.

Brienne strolls to Oberyn and says, “I seem to recall you had an altercation with Joffrey at his last engagement party.”

Oberyn’s smile is as dangerous as it is blinding with its charm.  “I recall it as well.  The booze was even cheaper on that occasion than it is on this one.”

“Did you threaten to kill him?”

“Not that I can recall, but he did annoy me.  Look somewhere else for the killer, Brienne.  I’m only here because I wanted to see how poor Sandor Clegane is holding up, now that his brother is in prison.  Besides, I can never resist watching a drama unfold before my very eyes.”

Jaime materializes behind Brienne, his arm going around her waist.  “I doubt there will be much drama now,” he drawls.  “Everyone’s exhausted and all we really want now is to go home and crawl into bed.”

Oberyn grins, a wicked glint in his eyes.  “Why, Mr. Lannister, are you inviting me home?”

Jaime tightens his grip on Brienne’s waist, even as he gives Oberyn an equally charming and dangerous smile.  “I’m telling you to go home, if you’re no longer needed here.”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Oberyn purrs.  “Aren’t you going to expose the killer in grand, public fashion, just like in one of those movies you’re so fond of?  I certainly can’t leave before the floor show.”  Oberyn lifts Brienne’s hand and brushes his lips across her knuckles.  “It’s always a pleasure to see you, Brienne.  Mayhaps you’ll have time for a drink after this case is finished.”

Jaime’s fingers dig into her hip and Brienne bites her lip to keep herself from laughing. “I’d like that,” she says demurely.

Oberyn walks away, laughing, with Ashara on his arm.  Brienne turns to Jaime and meets his glare.

“You would like that?” he growls.

“Of course I would; he’s gorgeous.”  But she can’t quite hide her amusement.  She glances around then gestures for Jaime to follow her.

She takes him to one of the now-empty interview rooms and, once the door is closed, puts her arms around him and kisses him.

“Are you all right?” she says.

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

She rolls her eyes.  “You know why.”

Jaime sighs.  “If I had known he was my son his entire life, I might feel differently.  But as it is, he’s just...he’s just that guy in the tabloids who once abused a friend of mine.  Once I have a chance to think about it, I may mourn for him, or rather, the idea of him, but right now, I’m desperately hoping Bronna—or her father—didn’t finally snap and do him in, just to do the world a favour.”

*/*/*/*/*

Tarly refuses to let anyone else leave, and after arguing for twenty minutes, Sandor Clegane finally throws up his hands and says, “I should have known better than to let that little shit hire this place again!  Whoever took him down did the world a fucking favour.”

Cersei gasps, and flies towards him, but Jaime catches her around the waist before she can reach Clegane.

“That’s my son, you freak!” she screeches as Jaime half-drags, half-carries her away.

Sandor watches her without expression on his horribly scarred face.  “He’s a fucking asshole,” he drawls, “and you’re the only one who’s sorry he’s dead.”

He turns and stomps to the door leading to the offices, and slams it shut behind him.

Complete silence falls over the rest of them, until a querulous voice says, “He was far too loud, but he certainly spoke the truth.”

They all turn and look at Olenna in her armchair, her hands folded comfortably across her stomach, her eye still closed.

She must feel the weight of their stares because her eyes flutter open and she half-smiles.  “I like people who speak the truth,” she says.  “It’s so rare these days.”

She shifts a little in the chair and once again closes her eyes.

Tarly turns towards them and sighs.

“Right,” he says, in his harsh, brisk voice.  He turns to Tywin and Tyrion.  “Who are you two again?” he barks.

“This is Tyrion,” Bronna says, hurrying over to the man in question.  “Tyrion…Lannister.  He’s here as my date.”

Tarly flicks his eyes over her then turns his glare on Tyrion.  “You seem rather chummy with Mrs. Baratheon, Tyrion Lannister.  How do you know her?”

Tyrion opens his mouth but Tywin quickly says, “I am Tywin Lannister.  I'm an old friend of Mrs. Baratheon’s, and Tyrion is an old friend of mine.”

“Besides,” Tyrion says with a smile that doesn’t reach his mismatched eyes, “I’m always willing to help a person in need.”

Cersei makes a sound that might be a disbelieving snort.

Tarly turns to stare at her, then shifts his glare from her to Lancel, hovering behind the sofa, then to Jaime, sitting beside Cersei.

“I suppose you’re also old friends of Mrs. Baratheon’s,” he snarls.

Brienne’s eyes narrow as Lancel pales then flushes.

“I’m her lawyer,” he says.

Tarly pounces on that tidbit.  “She called for her lawyer?”

“I was already here,” Lancel says.  “I was a guest at the party.”

But not necessarily a welcome guest, Brienne thinks, and makes a note to get Lancel alone so she can pry out of him what he and Cersei were arguing about the last time she saw them together.

“Why are you still here?” Tarly snarls, and Cersei turns to look up at the younger man, and whatever expression is on her face makes him gulp again.

“I—I just haven’t been interviewed yet,” he stammers.

Brienne steps forward.  “I can do that now,” she says.

Tarly opens his mouth then closes it again with a decided snap.  “Fine,” he growls.

“I’ll go with you,” Jaime says and stands, but Cersei grabs his hand.

He looks down at her and they stare at each other for a long, silent moment, a frown growing on Jaime’s face before he gently tugs his hand away from hers and straightens his lapels.

Brienne glances around and knows the interaction has not gone unnoticed.  She worries for a moment that Jaime’s true identity—or non-identity—will be exposed by the time all is said and done.

Her stomach sinks.

In a murder investigation, _everything_ eventually comes to light.

“Where do we go?” Jaime asks, bringing her back to the moment.

Brienne blinks at him then says, “Follow me,” and leads the way to the back offices.

*/*/*/*/*

Officer Deem joins them, both to observe and to record Lancel's official statement.

Brienne quickly goes through the standard questions:  Lancel’s name, occupation, address, and contact information.  Then she looks at the younger man and says, “What are you and Cersei Baratheon arguing about?”

His eyes widen and he leans back in his chair.  “What does that have to do with anything?” he says.

“I don’t know,” she says, “but both you and Cersei seem like you’re trying to make sure no one notices there’s tension between you.”

Lancel blinks rapidly, then his shoulders slump.  “We...we’re lovers.  _Were_ lovers, I guess.”

Jaime’s eyebrow goes up.  “When?” he asks.

“It began not long after we met.  She hired our law firm to help her prepare for a divorce from Robert Baratheon.  And she’s...” Lancel’s eyes turn dreamy and his lips quiver as he stares off into space.  “She’s so beautiful...”

It takes all Brienne’s willpower not to roll her eyes.

Lancel must notice something in her expression because he leans forward, his eyes earnest and beseeching.  “She’s the most beautiful, entrancing woman in the world!  She’s amazing, and I’ve done...would do anything and everything for her!”

“When did the relationship end?” Jaime says.

“Well, it hasn’t...not officially, I mean.  She hasn’t spoken to me privately since Robert died.  The only times I’ve seen her has been at public events like this.  I keep trying to talk to her, but she just surrounds herself with other people and won’t let me near her.”  He stares at the table, his mouth turned down at the corners.  “It must be the guilt,” he murmurs.

“Guilt about what?” Jaime says, his voice sharp.

Lancel jumps, his eyes wide and stricken.  “Guilt about the affair,” he says, almost stammering in his haste, “that’s all.”

Jaime stares at him for a long moment then leans back in his chair with an expression on his face that Brienne can’t define.

“Of course that’s all,” Jaime murmurs.

*/*/*/*/*

Tarly is in a rage by the time they return to the bar, Lancel in tow, but then again, Brienne thinks, Tarly is always in a rage.

He waves them to chairs with an irritable hand and spins round to face the remaining guests.  “I know it’s one of you in this room,” he growls.  “No one’s going home until I have a confession!”

“Will the confession stand up in court if it’s obtained under these circumstances?” Brienne asks, curious.

Tarly whirls around and glares at her.  “I believe you and your boss used a similar tactic in Lannisport.”

Jaime lights up.  “That’s right!  Straight out of _The Thin Man_!  But I don’t think that’s really the right analogy for this situation.”

Tarly stares at him.  “The thin _what_?”

“No, no,” Jaime says, getting to his feet and strolling to Tarly’s side, “the more I think on it, the more sure I am.  Besides the fact that you need to approach this situation with entirely more flair, it’s also more apt to compare this to _Murder on the Essos Express_.”

Tarly’s confusion makes Brienne bite back a smile, and she can’t help but be impressed by the smooth way Jaime moves Tarly aside and becomes the centre of attention.

“Ms Tarth,” he says, with a sweeping bow, “if you would join me, please.”

Brienne shares a glance with Bronna as she walks to Jaime’s side.

Jaime turns slowly around, looking at every clump of people still left in the bar.  Starks, Baratheons, Tyrells, and the—for lack of a better term—Lannisters and those allied with them.  Oberyn Martell and Ashara Dayne stand on the sidelines watching with amused expressions while Bronna and her father share a glance then gulp down the drinks in their hands.  Falyse watches with a mournful expression.

Jaime gleefully rubs his gold hand and says, “I believe it’s safe to say that every person in this room had a reason to murder Joffrey, and we’re not going to leave here until we discover who did it.”  He leans over to Brienne and says in a loud stage whisper, “I think they all did it.”

Bronna, Tyrion, and Bronn immediately call for another drink.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime begins to prowl the room.

“Oberyn,” he says, spinning abruptly to face the other man.

Oberyn raises an eyebrow.

“You had an altercation with Joffrey during his last engagement party that also took place here in the DragonPit.”

“Yes, I did,” Oberyn says in pleasant tones.  “I left the little shit on his knees in the middle of the dance floor.”

“Did he ever threaten you after that?”

“Joffrey is a coward and a bully.  Of course he didn’t.”

“And you never threatened to kill him?”

“I may have told him to tread lightly or he would regret it, but other than that, I had no reason to want to kill him.  He was annoying, not dangerous.”  Oberyn’s smile turns cold and as deadly as a snake’s.  “Not to me or mine, anyway.”

“Ashara?” Brienne asks.  “What about you?”

Ashara shrugs.  “Oberyn invited me here tonight as his date,” she says.  “Never even met Joffrey before tonight.”

“Why did you decide to attend?”

Oberyn glances at Sandor Clegane, who is once again standing, scowling on the sidelines, his arms crossed against his chest.

“Let’s just say I was checking on a family matter.”

“Hm,” Jaime says and turns to prowl the room.  “Jorah, you’re here as Daenerys’ escort.”

Jorah starts a little and nods.

“You have no love for Joffrey, either.  I seem to recall a moment in Lannisport when Joffrey was...hm...less than kind, shall we say, to Dany, and you stepped in.”

Jorah’s eyes widen and he pales.  “I haven’t seen him since, and honestly—that was a long time ago.  I didn’t even think of it when Dany asked me to attend as her guest.”

Jaime hums again then continues prowling the room, coming to a stop in front of a still-napping Olenna Tyrell and her family.  “If Joffrey was true to form and was treating Margaery the way he treated Sansa and Bronna, any one of you would have a motive to kill him before the wedding could proceed.”

“Does your blathering have a point, boy?” Olenna says without opening her eyes.

“Simply thinking out loud, my lady,” Jaime says, sarcasm dripping from every word as he gives her a mock bow.

Brienne is watching Margaery, who has, as far as she can tell, not yet shed a single tear.  She cocks her head to one side.  “Why were you going through with it, Margaery?” she asks.  “You knew Joffrey better than even Sansa and Bronna; your brother is married to his uncle, after all.  You’ve known him since you were both children.”

Margaery’s smile is beatific.  “He was the Crown Prince of Rock and Roll, and an heir to Big Bobby B’s fortune.  He might have been an asshole, but he was also talented, famous, and a multi-millionaire in his own right.  But I was going to go through with it mainly because the pre-nup he gave me is ridiculously full of loopholes.  A year, mayhaps two, and I would have been set for life.”

“I knew you were a gold-digging bitch,” Cersei sneers.

Tywin’s hand clamps down on her arm.  She glares at him but subsides beneath the weight of his warning look.

Brienne turns back to Margaery.  “Your grandmother is the second richest woman in the world.”

“And always insistent on her grandchildren making their own way,” Margaery says.  “Besides, I’m not looking forward to inheriting; I want her to live forever.”

Olenna opens her eyes at that and gives her granddaughter a fond smile.

“And you, Olenna?” Jaime says.

Olenna opens her eyes wide.  “Me?  I thought Margaery could do better, but she’s a grown woman and Joffrey wouldn’t be the first Baratheon in the family...although Renly _is_ much better behaved.”

Jaime spins round to face the Starks.

Ned’s face is calm as he meets Jaime’s gaze.

“Of everyone in this room, your family has the most reason to kill Joffrey,” Jaime says, “and the most members who have publicly threatened his life.”

Catelyn rises to her feet, magnificent in her fury.  “I was too drugged the last time my family was threatened,” she practically spits, “but that is not the case now!  How _dare_ —?”

“Have you noticed I’m accusing everyone?” Jaime says, his voice dry.  “Your husband, son, and daughter have all made threatening remarks either to or about Joffrey.  Are we simply to ignore that?”

Ned puts a soothing hand on Catelyn’s arm and she subsides.  “None of us are capable of murder,” he says.

“None of you?” Jaime asks, lifting his eyebrow in question.

The same thought seems to dawn on all the Starks and they turn as one to look at Arya.

She rolls her eyes.  “Oh, for the gods’ sakes!  No, I didn’t kill the little shit, and if I did, I wouldn’t have murdered him in public!”

“The poison was in the beer,” Brienne says.  “Who served it to him?”

Sansa says, “I ordered it from the bartender.”

“Was it a fresh bottle?” Jaime asks.

Sansa frowns.  “As far as I know.  It made all the right sounds when he popped it open.”  She turns to Tyrion.  “You were behind the bar, helping him; was it a new bottle?”

Tyrion nods as Cersei gasps and her eyes turn wild.

“Was it you?” she practically screeches as she takes a step towards him.  “Did _you_ kill my little boy?”

Tyrion stares at her like she’s run mad.  “Why the fuck would I do such a thing?”

“Because you’re fucking Bronna now!  You did it for her!”  She glares at him, her hands turning into claws.  “You little freak!  You’ve always hated me, even when we were children!”

She rushes at him, but Tyrion dodges and Tywin quickly puts his arms around Cersei.  “Cersei, my dear, you’re still distraught.  I realize this would be shocking to anyone.” He looks around, and says, “If I may take her to one of the other rooms for a moment?  Just until she calms herself.”  He glances at Jaime and Brienne.  “Mayhaps you would both like to accompany us?”

Everyone is staring at them with appalled fascination then Tarly shakes his head and sends them on their way with a disgusted wave of his hand.

*/*/*/*/*


	5. Four

***/*/*/*/***

They wait in tense silence, Cersei pacing the room like a beautiful, golden lioness and glaring from Tywin to Jaime to Brienne.  It’s only a few minutes more before the door opens and Tyrion slips inside.

“Sometimes, it pays to be short,” he says.  He looks at Cersei and takes in the way she’s glaring at him.  “Oh, for—I did not murder your precious Joffrey, Cersei.  I had no reason!  Whatever went on between him and Bronna was long before I met her and she’s more than capable of protecting herself.”

“So it was Bronna!” Cersei snaps.

Jaime rolls his eyes.  “We haven’t gotten to the Stokeworths yet, but it’s far more likely to have been her father than Bronna, although he doesn’t look the kind of man who would use poison on his enemies.”

Brienne grimaces.  “That, he is not,” she says.

Cersei gives her a cold-eyed stare.  “Why are _you_ here?  This is a family matter.”

Brienne raises an eyebrow.  “Like it or not, I’m part of this family now, too.”

Cersei barks a harsh laugh.  “Oh, please!  Once Jaime finishes draining your stupid little agency dry—and once he’s tired of playing at being a good guy—he’ll leave you in the rubble to pick up the pieces.”

Jaime tenses, turning to look at Brienne.

She’s frowning, and Cersei laughs, a high, thin sound, rapier sharp in its cruelty.

“Didn’t you _know_?” Cersei sneers.  “Did you honestly believe all those pathetic little kisses he gave you out there?  He only took on Jaime’s identity so he could get his hands on the money in your agency’s accounts!  Are you truly as moronic as you look?  Did you really think he gives a shit about you and that stupid agency?”

“There’s no need to be cruel,” Tywin says, his eyes as cold as Cersei’s laughter.  “It’s obvious she had no idea Jaime’s only after the nest egg the agency had accumulated.”

Brienne stands unmoving, her gaze moving from Tywin to Cersei and back again.

Tywin shrugs.  “It’s the truth.”

Tyrion frowns.

Jaime’s face is expressionless.

Brienne slowly shakes her head.  “Just how stupid do you people think I am?” she says in wonderment.  “You don’t think the first thing I did was keep an eye on my bank accounts?  Gods, no wonder you’re so successful if all your marks are that fucking stupid!”

They all stare at her in blank silence while Jaime bites his lip to keep from laughing.

Cersei straightens.  “Oh, please!  What other reason could there be for taking over Jaime’s identity?”

“He wanted something he could call his own!  While not ideal, at least Jaime Lannister wasn’t going to complain about his life being stolen and if Jaime played his cards right, he wouldn’t need to constantly look over his shoulder, wondering when it was all going to come crashing down.  He wanted to be able to sleep in the same bed every night, to have friends, to have a _life_!”

Cersei bursts into laughter.  “Where in the seven hells did you get all that claptrap from?”

“Jaime told me.”

Now Cersei’s laughter is tinged with a hint of hysteria, or madness, if the look in her eyes is anything to go by.  “ _Jaime_ told you?  Jaime is a con man!”

“He’s the man who saved my life,” Brienne says, “and I believe him over a woman who didn’t have the balls to leave her husband and make a life of her own.”

“Didn’t have the— _I murdered that son-of-a-bitch_!”

Cersei’s words are followed by a sudden, cold silence, broken only by the sound of her rapid breathing.

Brienne cocks her head as she steadily meets Cersei’s gaze and feels a surprising flash of empathy for the woman before her.

“That was cruel of me,” Brienne says quietly, “but I knew there was something, and it wasn’t simply your affair with Lancel.”

Cersei’s eyes flicker then she lifts her chin in a haughty glare.

“How did you do it?” Jaime asks.  “Robert, I mean.”

“That fucking beer he and Joffrey love so much.  It’s a new one from the Reach and they’re the only ones who liked it.  I made sure the bottles were laced with something... _extra_ for Robert’s enjoyment, and made sure only Robert got those bottles.”

“Something extra…like the street drug, Boar?”

Cersei shrugs one lovely, graceful shoulder.  “I don’t know; must have been.  Lancel took care of all that for me.”

“Lancel.”

She nods.  “I know enough to make sure I’m at least one step removed from it all.”  She glances at Tywin.  “I learned that from you, Father.”

Tywin’s face is grey and drawn as he stares at her.  “At least you learned something,” he murmurs.

Tywin, Tyrion and Jaime exchange long looks before Jaime turns back to Cersei.

“And Joffrey knew?” he asks, almost gently.

Cersei stares back, a defiant set to her jaw.

“Joffrey knew something,” Brienne says, almost gently, her gaze steady on Cersei.  “The way he talked to you just before the toast.  He knew or suspected something, didn’t he, Cersei?”

Cersei sniffs, lifting her chin even higher.  “He was going to drink one of the beers, right after Robert died.  I hadn’t cleaned out the bottles yet.  I couldn’t let him do that.”

“So he knew you had a hand in his father’s death—”

“ _Step_ father!”

“Father in all but blood,” Tyrion snaps.  “And you expect us to believe you didn’t kill Joffrey yourself?  Out of everyone, you’re the only one with a true motive!”

Cersei barks a laugh.  “Who are you going to tell?” she sneers.  She glares at each of them in turn.  “Any of you?  Bring me down, and I’ll bring you down with me.”

Jaime closes his eyes.  “Cersei,” he whispers, “remember who you’re talking to.”

For a moment she looks startled, worried, her eyes flying to Tywin’s face.  Whatever she sees there must soothe her because she relaxes and says, “Father will never harm me.”

“But _I_ can’t let you get away with murder,” Brienne says, very quietly.  She looks at Tywin.  “Will you harm me instead?”

Tywin’s face doesn’t change for a long moment then his gaze shifts to Jaime and his shoulders slump.

“No,” he murmurs and Cersei gasps.  Tywin shakes his head as he looks at her.  “I could forgive you for Robert,” he says, “but Joffrey?  Your own son?”

“I _didn’t_ —!”

Tywin shakes his head and turns away.  He looks at Brienne and says, “Cersei’s right, however:  she’s going to take us all down with her if we’re not careful.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime and Brienne huddle inside a different interview room while Tywin and Tyrion keep a raging Cersei contained.

“We don’t have any direct evidence that she killed Joffrey to keep him silent,” Brienne says.  “She could have slipped the beer behind the bar at any time without anyone noticing.”  She shudders.  “He could have died at any time during the night.”

Jaime rubs his temple and shakes his head.  “Mayhaps no direct evidence, no, but she has the best motive for the murder and there’ll be no denying that once the truth behind Robert’s death is revealed.  Sweet Seven, she even used the same MO!  Don’t get me wrong, every person in that room would have gladly pushed Joffrey off a cliff, or drove over him with their car, or shot him, but poison?  That takes cold-hearted planning...plus she’s already done it once before, with Robert.”  He shakes his head.  “The only way the rest of us might make it through this unscathed is if we can figure out a way to prove Cersei’s motive that doesn’t involve a confession or depends on her word alone.”

Brienne frowns.  “Well,” she says slowly, “there’s Lancel.”

*/*/*/*/*

Lancel breaks in less than thirty minutes, tearfully confessing everything.

“Do you think Joffrey knew about it?” Jaime asks.

Lancel’s eyes widen.  “He must have; that explains some of the things he said the last time I saw him.”  Lancel breaks into sobs.  “Did Cersei kill him, too?”  Suddenly he stops, his eyes widening.  “Oh, gods—was I going to be next?”

*/*/*/*/*

Cersei’s reaction when Randyll Tarly snaps the cuffs on her wrists is even more histrionic than when she sobbed over Joffrey’s body.

As she’s being dragged from the room, she screams that Lancel is a spineless, lying weasel, that Jaime is a fraud, that Tywin is a criminal, that Tyrion is a deformed little freak, that Brienne is a lying bitch who’s been deceiving everyone for years.

Once she’s finally out the door, Tywin turns to the others and says, his voice heavy, his shoulders slumped with grief, “I’m sorry; she’s delusional.  I think her mind has snapped beneath the weight of killing both Robert and Joffrey.”  He shakes his head.  “I hope the courts will be merciful.”

Olenna stares at him, her eyes popped wide but with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.  “Well,” she says, “I, for one, most certainly did not expect it to be Cersei.”

*/*/*/*/*


	6. Epilogue

***/*/*/*/***

The media frenzy barely fazes them this time, although it’s exhausting nonetheless.  The fallout is just as personal as it was after the Dreadfort, even if those on the outside don’t know it.  Still, Jaime can’t help but appreciate the fact that Renly and Loras are keeping Tommen and Myrcella as far from the spotlight as possible.

“Should I claim them?” he asks Brienne one night, in the warm, comforting darkness of their bed.  “They’ve lost everyone, now.  Father, mother, brother.”

Brienne hooks her leg over his hip and pulls him closer.  “Would you take away their identity, then, too?”

He rears back to look into her eyes.  “I...I hadn’t thought of that.”  He stares off into space with a scowl.  “And what would I replace it with?  Jaime Lannister—as much as I embody him—doesn’t truly exist.  If I were to claim them and then that little tidbit were to come to light...”

He sighs.

“Nothing has changed since the last time we talked about this,” Brienne says softly.  Her hand is soothing as she strokes his back.

“Nothing except their mother is in prison and their brother is dead.”

“And their mother is the one who killed their father and brother.”

Jaime must be silent too long because Brienne lifts her head to frown at him.  “Are you doubting it was Cersei?”

Jaime sighs.  “I don’t know.  Mayhaps I just don’t want to believe she would murder her own child...but there was something in the way Olenna…”  He shakes his head.  “Wishful thinking on my part.  There’s no doubt Cersei murdered Robert and as for Joffrey, well…self-preservation is a powerful force, and Cersei literally had everything to lose.  Given all that, who else would it have been?”

*/*/*/*/*

The media spotlight is also intensified because of the suddenly public confirmation of Jaime’s romance with Brienne, thanks to two pictures posted to social media with the caption ‘Beauty and the Beast’.  Both photos were obviously taken in the DragonPit.  In one, Brienne is looking over her shoulder as she smiles at Jaime, her eyes shining like stars, and in the other, they’re holding each other close as they kiss.

The public’s reaction is immediate and responses range from the most heartfelt well-wishes to the most vitriolic of insults, mostly directed at Brienne.

Jaime, Bronna, and Sam try to keep the worst of it away from Brienne, who sees too much of it for their peace of mind.  She assures them that it doesn’t bother her, that she has thick skin to those kinds of things, but Jaime can see the insults do bother her, no matter how much she says they don’t.

Jaime toys with the idea of using the combined talents of Bronna, Sam and Tyrion to track down the worst offenders.  He wonders if they would dare to be such assholes if they were looking him in the eyes…and if they would be quick enough to avoid his gold hand.

*/*/*/*/*

The—for lack of a better term—’Lannister family’ weathers Cersei’s arrest better than Brienne could have predicted.  Tywin and Tyrion really are _very_ good, because no matter how much anyone digs, nothing but the most innocuous information detailing the most mundane of lives is ever found.

She rather wishes they’d come work for her.

*/*/*/*/*

The days speed by and, like all things, the scandal of Joffrey’s death, and Jaime and Brienne’s relationship, fade to the back pages then disappear entirely.

Jaime hands Brienne a coffee and collapses on the sofa beside her.

“We need a holiday,” he grumbles.

She raises an eyebrow.  “We need to work.”

“We’ve been on too many planes and to the Eyrie too many times without joining the Mile High Club.  We’ve been hunted by mad men and barely escaped with our lives, and Cersei’s gone to prison.  Aren’t you exhausted?  Even a little?”

Brienne scowls then says, “Yeah.  Yeah, I’m exhausted.”

Jaime leans closer with his most charming smile.  “Let’s close down the agency for a few weeks and sneak away for a vacation somewhere.”

“Like where?”

Jaime takes her cup and puts it on the coffee table, then puts his arms around her.  “Mayhaps Sunspear.  Or the Summer Isles, where I can make love to you on a beach so I can see you glowing in the sun.”  He kisses her, deep, searching, loving.

She blinks, and her eyes are even more beautiful when dazed with lust.  She whispers, “That sounds nice.”

He beams.  “Let’s finish our current cases—they’re all insurance cases anyway—then jet off to the Summer Isles for three weeks.”

“Two.”

He sighs.  “You drive a tough bargain, Ms Tarth.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Mr. Lannister.”

Jaime kisses her again, bearing her down onto the couch.  He stops kissing her long enough to say, “I love you, Brienne.  You know that, right?”

She strokes his face and says, “I know.  I love you, too.”

*/*/*/*/*

They walk into the office the next morning, and Bronna hands them each an envelope.

“Just arrived,” she says.  “Hand-delivered.  Pia says hello, by the way, and you should call them for dinner sometime.”

Jaime and Brienne frown at the rich gold and blue envelopes, turning them over in their hands before opening them.

Inside is an ornate invitation, inviting them to a re-opening of the exhibition of King Jaime I Lannister and Queen Brienne I of Tarth six weeks from that day.  The invitation promises new artifacts and new discoveries that will rewrite history.  Jaime’s eyes pop wide.

“Sponsored by King Duncan himself!” Jaime says.

“And he and the Queen are going to be in attendance!” Bronna says with a grin and waves her own envelope.  “I’m not about to miss that!”

“Tyrion will love it,” Jaime says.

“He’ll go and love it, even if he doesn’t,” Bronna sniffs, and Jaime laughs.

His phone rings and he looks at it.

“Speak of the devil,” he says and answers it.  “Tyrion, we were just talking about you.”

“Glowingly, of course.”

“Naturally.”

“Well, this is going to make you practically worship at my feet:  I have a lead on the sword hilt, and mayhaps the dragon bone as well.”

#####


End file.
